What CAN’T Sex Toys & Dolls Replace From a Partner?
Sometimes I worry that my love of big dick might eventually be the reason I die alone. For that reason, I got a VixSkin Colossus cock extender to put on the dildo attachment of my handheld fucking machine and pound me into oblivion. “Modern problems require modern solutions,” I joked.
Of all people, I’d know that sex toys can be gratifying, life-enhancing tools. Dildos can have fleshlike squish. Sex dolls can be near-immaculately pigmented and painted. Fucking machines can stroke with perfect precision.
But they’re never going to encourage me to dream, “If you could do anything with no consequences, what would it be?” nor follow up, “And what’s stopping you from doing that?”
Dildos and sex dolls can’t comprehend my body image-related reasons for taking a break from modeling. They can’t drunkenly tell me, “You shouldn’t be self-conscious of your body. It’s beautiful.” And after sobering up, “It’s shitty that society makes people feel like they’re not good enough.” Much less reassure me that it’s okay to want someone cute to tell me that I’m pretty.
My fucking machine isn’t advanced enough to instinctively know when to stop thrusting, to edge me and ask, “Do you want more?” Or to bottom me out and stay in place, all the way in against my cervix while I come, before giving a few hard thrusts and watching me come again. When I gasp, “FUCK!” it can’t ask me, “What did you say?” and then go harder.
Sex toys can’t look me in the eyes when trying a new kink and say, “You’re going to walk me through every step of this. We’re going to have amazing communication about it, okay?”
A sex doll can’t warn, “Hey! We can’t do that. I’m not trying to get kicked out of the hotel,” when I scream because a fist is thrust inside me. And it definitely can’t push me back by my neck and cover my mouth.
Fellating a dildo isn’t the same as feeling a partner’s cock get harder and more blood rushing into it every time I pull back and push my head down a bit more. Filling an ejaculating dildo with cum lube can’t replicate the taste of jizz. It can’t replace the primal wink-nudge of swallowing literal water of life, filled with strands of genetic synergy, and passed down through hundreds of thousands of years of human ancestors who may or may not have fallen in love.
And sure, I’ve taken unplanned, post-fap naps with the Uberrime Night King still inside me. But sex toys can’t put their arms around me and give me forehead kisses when I wake up next to them. Bedhead and last night’s half-faded make-up and all. They don’t provide impromptu back rubs during our morning shower.
Sex toys, sex dolls, and fucking machines have their place, with or without a partner. Awesome, but not attention nor affection. They aren’t human. They aren’t living. And for that, unlike a partner, a sex toy will never be the reason I listen to the song, “Alive,” by Krewella on repeat.
This post was sponsored by uxdoll. All thoughts expressed are my own, as always.